|Image: Orhan Tsolak|
I can’t believe the rumours that the Observer might be going to shut its doors. I first picked up the scent of this from David Mitchell via Twitter, and it seems to have some substance to it. Despite circulation not falling, unlike some other newspapers, the possibility that the paper might be closing is very real indeed.
Newspapers in this country are a funny thing. Here we have a Sunday paper, which I read because of it’s open attitude and wide coverage of the arts (sister paper The Guardian publishes Monday to Saturday), and yet while other rags like The Star (all tits and no content) and The Daily Mail (racist, so we don’t have to be) can survive, a quality newspaper like The Observer can’t find the staying power.
On the back of the Sunday Herald’s decision to sack its staff and then re-hire them at lower rates and numbers, what this illustrates is the print media industry in this country is in as bad a state as it was when Rupert Murdoch moved out to Wapping and killed off Fleet Street. I’ll be backing the campaign to save the Observer. Maybe we should all buy a copy this Sunday to show our support. It’s relatively cheap compared to The Sunday Times and you’ll find something in it for everyone—guaranteed.
Last night was great fun but tiring. With Gail out with some of her family and friends to see the Chippendales, I moved into the living room with my netbook and ordered a pizza for dinner. Total laziness but I was famished after a long day.
I had also offered to look after Gracie—Gail’s pal’s puppy—and boy is she getting big. She’s also getting calmer and using her teeth less, and she has a wonderful personality. She’s still a baby though and by 11pm she had fallen asleep under my legs, snoozing away with the odd yawn and stretch. I had to wait up for everyone to get back, though, which is probably why I slept in again this morning.
When I made it into work I discovered the person who sits not five yards from me and was sent home feeling ill yesterday, has been confirmed as a victim of Swine Flu. Lovely. Fingers crossed I don’t get it as it would ruin my plans for the next week. So long as I don’t get it during the Book Festival, because then there will be trouble!
I caught up with BACCARA BURNING during the evening—man it felt good—and I organised all my photographs from the cruise into the right folders. For some reason, one of the day’s photographs came out with the same filenames as a previous day, meaning I have a whole bunch if duplicates but of different things; total pain to sort out but it will be worth it.